


my lover is a day

by glendowers



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, BECAUSE DUH IM WRITING IT WHAT ELSE WOULD IT BE OTHER THAN POST 5X12, But mostly fluff, Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Recovery, mickey and ian are best friends, post 5x12, sometimes u just gotta hold someones hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:29:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glendowers/pseuds/glendowers
Summary: even after everything, mickey and ian love each other.but sometimes, what you need most is friendship.





	my lover is a day

There is something about the way the sun feels on his face this morning. As Mickey tilts his head up, he can feel the heat in his cheeks and see the sun’s orange pallor even though his eyes are closed. There is something about it- the noise of Canaryville and the _smell_ and the grass poking through where shirt meets jeans.

 _This is home,_ he thinks, and for the first time in awhile it doesn’t feel like a curse- something shoved on him from birth that he can’t shake off.

He’s at the dugouts again. Though the memories born of this place are scarred and bloody, they are _his_ and he loves them for that. He loves them because they are all he really has of Ian these days, and Mickey has never been a greedy man so he takes what he can get. They remind him of being young and angry at the world, but they also remind him of hope. Hope for himself. If nothing else, he has that.

Sometimes on these mornings he debates calling Ian. He remembers the last one him and Ian shared, when Ian came back and Mickey, fingers fumbling, waited on nervous breath to say _the fuck are you?_

Mickey found him. For better or for worse.

He wants to tell Ian that he’s glad they met, that even though things ended he doesn’t regret anything. Not really. He has spent too many years feeling anger in his chest, in his head, in his fists. He knows the sight of blood in the sink.

But he doesn’t, because even after everything, he’s afraid. Shakingly so. He’s hovering on something fragile, and the thought of taking a step towards something dark again makes him _sick_.

_Don’t think about after. Don’t think about it._

He tries not to, but it is as if sometimes he can still feel the silence in his throat ( _choking choking choking_ ).

He gets up.

*

He’s at the Gallagher house again. As he knocks, he feels his fingers shaking.

When Ian answers the door, there’s something expanding in Mickey's chest that he doesn’t have a name for. Even though Ian’s eyes are hollow, and his hair flattened and slept on, Mickey’s hands long to _touch._

He doesn’t, though. He says: “Hey, Gallagher.”

Ian’s hands are so white. Mickey’s skin has the feel of Ian’s palms committed to memory. “Hey, Mickey. What are you doing here?”

“You and I, we were friends right?”

Ian’s eyes are green. They’re something Mickey has never seen before. “Yeah, Mick. We were friends, even though it didn’t seem like it sometimes.”

 _That feeling._ “Do you want to hang out?”

He feels 16 again. Young and dirty and scared as he is now, but in a different way.

He can see the uncertainty in Ian’s posture, _yes_ and _no_ and _why are you asking me this? After everything?_ Ian’s whole body is still as he asks: “What?”

Mickey doesn’t say _I miss you_.

Mickey doesn’t say _I don’t remember how to not take care of you_.

He says: “You said me and you were friends. Friends fuckin’ hang out. So you want to, or not?”

Ian smiles, just a little, and the action looks foreign on a face so devoid of life. It looks like he’s forgotten exactly how to do it, but Mickey still mirrors it with one of his own. And even though he’s giving out a friendship his heart beats _I love you I love you I love you,_ just because it has been trained to do that for years now.

“Alright, Milkovich. You have anything in mind?”

There’s promise here. Something breakable, hesitant, but for once Mickey is not afraid. So much of him is this boy, and he would be a fool to believe otherwise. “Let’s go get something to eat. I’m fuckin’ starved.”

That small smile again. If anything, Mickey wants to help him fix that. “Oh yeah? We finally goin’ to Sizzlers on that date?”

Mickey lets himself laugh. As he throws an arm around Ian’s shoulders, it feels like the sun on his face. “You wish bitch. This ain’t a date and I ain’t payin’ for your ass.”

“You’ve always been a cheap sonuvabitch.”

“We’re both poor, Gallagher. That shit’s in our _blood._ ”

*

They decide on some hole-in-the-wall pizza place, because Mickey will fight till his dying breath against the gentrification and he tells Ian so. Ian says he doesn’t mind.

Ian doesn’t eat much, and in the space where he would have talked Mickey’s ear off till he was blue in the face, he’s silent. It’s okay, though, because Mickey fills the space with words of his own.

“You wouldn’t fucking believe the guy Mandy brought home the other day. Dude was full of roid rage.” he’s letting his hands fly, and Ian watches them move, “I told Mandy, I told her ‘Mandy, if you don’t stop bringing home these angry fucks I’m gonna die young and fucking tired’. I swear, Ian. It’s like, in our blood, to choose the wrong fucking people.”

Ian’s perfectly still again. “What about you?”

He’s so caught up in his storytelling that he says, “What _about_ me?”

“Did you choose the wrong person.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, “When did you get so dramatic? And no, I didn’t.”

The set of Ian’s shoulders are pleased, but he doesn’t say anything else. He even takes a bite of his pizza.

Mickey counts it as a victory, and when they finish ( _“I told you, Gallagher, I ain’t paying for you. Better get your fuckin’ wallet out_ ), he says they should do this again sometime.

Ian says sure.

*

Mickey drags Ian to see the new Star Wars. Mickey doesn’t buy Ian’s ticket, but he does buy them popcorn. He’s not a monster, after all.

When Kylo Ren makes an appearance on screen, Ian leans over. “This guy has always reminded me of you.”

Ian’s face is so close to his, and if they weren’t the Ian and Mickey of _now,_ Mickey would have closed the space. Taken Ian’s bottom lip between his own. But he knows the situation, so he just elbows him and says, “A fuckin’ brat? You insultin’ me?”

“Tall, dark, and broody.” Ian looks pensive for a moment. “Well, not tall. Broody, though.”

He elbows him again. “Dick.”

The guy behind them kicks his seat.

He doesn’t mind at all.

*

They keep hanging out. Sometimes they play video games. Sometimes they go out to eat.

Sometimes, Ian can’t get out of bed.

*

On the walk home from Mickey’s, Ian insists on going to the dugouts, and when they jump over the gate, Mickey wonders if Ian remembers the day Ian split his lip.

They’re on their backs when Mickey says, “I come here a lot. In the mornings.”

“Why?”

“To think, mostly.”

“What do you think about?”

“I dunno, stuff that’s on my mind I guess.”

Ian angles his body towards him. “Me?”

Mickey doesn’t say _Yes._

Mickey doesn’t say _Always._

He says: “You narcissistic prick.”

Ian laughs, and Mickey loves him so much that he aches with it. After awhile, Ian says, “I’m thinking of going on the meds, again.”

This is another one of those careful moments. Like the ones where Mickey catches himself leaning into Ian too much, or staring at Ian’s mouth. He’s been training himself to unlearn everything that feels like second nature when it comes to Ian Gallagher, and he does exactly this as he says, “Oh yeah? How come?”

“For myself.”

“I’m proud of you, man,” Mickey says, because he just can’t help it.

Ian’s quiet again. “You’re my best friend, Mickey.”

“Yeah, you too Ian.”

Ian takes his hand. Mickey lets him.

 _This is home,_ he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> hey ya'll. can u believe i wrote something sort of happy for once?? don't get used to it. u know i love angst more than anything. also - i couldn't help but put star wars in here. what can i say?? im a big ,, dumb ,, NERD.


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